"No injuries," someone said quickly.
"Just a demonstration."
No one believed that.
The man on the floor rolled onto his side, still breathing, still conscious—barely. Two others moved to help him up, careful not to look at Aria while they did.
She let them.
Because the point had already landed.
The Second Volunteer
"…All right," another voice said.
A woman stepped forward this time.
Lean.
Efficient.
Eyes sharp with calculation instead of pride.
"If we're doing this," she said,
"let's do it clean."
Aria nodded once.
"Agreed."
That word—agreed—made Noah's stomach tighten.
Friendly meant rules.
And rules were about to be bent.
They Set the Terms
No countdown.
No signal.
Just distance.
Three meters.
Enough room for mistakes.
The woman raised her hands, palms open.
Not a challenge.
A courtesy.
Aria mirrored her.
For exactly half a second.
Then her hands dropped.
The First Exchange
The woman moved fast.
Faster than the man had.
A straight punch, clean line, minimal telegraph.
Aria shifted her head an inch.
The punch missed.
Barely.
The woman's eyes widened.
"…Still fast," she muttered.
Aria didn't reply.
She stepped in.
The Lie of "Friendly"
The woman blocked the first strike.
Deflected the second.
Countered with a knee that would have cracked ribs on anyone else.
Aria absorbed it on the hip, twisted, and stole balance mid-motion.
The woman stumbled.
Recovered.
Backed up two steps.
Breathing harder now.
"This isn't friendly," she said under her breath.
Aria met her eyes.
"No," she agreed.
"It's honest."
No Mercy, No Rage
They moved again.
Faster.
Cleaner.
The corridor filled with the sound of controlled violence—shoes scuffing, fabric snapping, breath forced out in short, sharp bursts.
No wild swings.
No desperation.
Just precision.
The End Comes Quietly
The woman went for a sweep.
Aria stepped over it.
Hooked an arm.
Turned.
Dropped her.
Not slammed.
Placed.
The woman hit the floor and stayed there, staring at the ceiling.
Chest rising.
Whole.
Defeated.
Respect Arrives Early
Someone let out a breath they hadn't realized they were holding.
"…Still you," another murmured.
Aria stepped back.
Smoothed her sleeve.
"This was friendly," she said calmly.
"You all walked away."
She looked at the others.
"That won't always be the case."
No One Volunteers Next
Silence stretched.
No smiles now.
No comments.
Just recalculation.
Noah leaned back against the wall, eyes closed.
"…They're done testing," he thought.
Closing Beat
Aria picked up her jacket.
Put it back on.
The corridor didn't feel smaller anymore.
It felt aligned.
And everyone there understood the same thing:
Calling it a friendly spar hadn't softened the blow.
It had sharpened it.
Because friendliness implied choice.
And she had just proven—
They never had one.